


Be Still, My Foolish Heart

by punto_y_coma



Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2020-01-24 06:25:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18565768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punto_y_coma/pseuds/punto_y_coma
Summary: Just some Dimya ficlets from tumblr prompts <3





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wondrous first kiss, eyes wide, after first words are said, after they meet the One, the other half of their heart.

 

There he was, sat on the bridge, her bridge, with his denim jacket and his crooked nose.

“You didn’t answer my calls,” she said. “I thought you would be at the airport already.”

“I thought it would be easier this way; no teary goodbyes, no sappy texts,” he scoffed. “By the way, if you see me in the street, don’t wave, don’t smile… I don’t want to be in love with someone I can’t have for the rest of my life,” he did a half-hearted salute in her direction and got up to leave. “Goodbye, Anya.”

“I used to imagine that my first kiss would be in Paris, with a handsome prince,” she said abruptly, tripping over the words.

“I’m not your prince, Anya,” he replied.

“I don’t believe that,” she said with exasperation, ran to where he was and kissed him. He stumbled back onto the edge of the bridge, eyes wide and unsure what to do with his hands for a second… And then he held her close, grabbed her dress and cupped her face. “You are so stubborn, Dima,” she reprimanded softly.

“That makes two of us,” he chuckled and kissed her again. The wind rose around then and he could feel her smiling against his lips.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dozens of hard kisses pressed to cheeks and brow and mouth and temples in between whispered “I’m here” and “everything is going to be alright”

“I’m here,” Dmitry’s hand found hers between the tangled sheets. 

These were the worst kind of nightmares, he had discovered. She would wake in a cold terror, shrieking and shaking, with no memory of her life after the attack. For a while, she wasn’t Anya, not really… She hadn’t walked the length of Russia all on her own or found her grandmother or taught Dmitry how to dance. The first time it had happened it hurt him, how could she forget him, after everything they had been through? Then he realized just how terrified she was… 

And so, it was a miracle that she would trust him when he moved towards her. “It was only a dream,” he said, his thumb rubbing her wrist. Slowly, she recognized him, in the touch of his skin or the smell of his hair or the sound of his voice.

“Dmitry?” she asked tentatively, her voice trembling, like a hand that reached out to touch a wounded animal. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw his face nod and smile. Anya snuggled up to him and he held her to his side, breathing in her hair. “Dima,” she repeated lovingly. 

“I’m here,” he said, brushing his knuckles down her spine. She looked up at him, suddenly overwhelmed by reliving every memory of loving him. After a second of hesitation, she kissed him hard, as if to remind herself that this was real, that he was real. She lingered there, kissing his eyes and his cheekbone and his jaw.  
“Everything’s going to be alright,” he promised between kisses.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning kisses, waking up and pressing kisses to bare shoulders, basking in the sunlight streaming through the windows, pausing to let your gaze caress your lover’s face, unlined and unworried as they sleep, and then watching their eyes slowly open as they rouse, and seeing them smile as their eyes focus on you, the first thing they see that day.

For a split second, she forgot where she was and awoke with a start. Slowly, she recognized the wallpaper and the bed and the body next to hers. Dmitry was sleeping, blissfully. It was weird to see him so still, so calm; only his chest moving with deep breaths. She turned to watch him better, his tousled hair and his soft smile. She stayed like that for a long time, until the early morning light covered them completely, translucent through the curtains of the hotel room. Dmitry opened his eyes and found her staring.

“Hi,” he said and moved closer to her, kissing her shoulder and her collarbone until he was comfortably resting against the crook of her neck.

“Hi,” she echoed, playing with his hair and kissing the top of his head.

Everything felt so sluggish, the sounds of the street below, the feel of the bedsheets, their slow heartbeats…

“Do you feel any different?” she asked.

“Hmm?”

“Being married. I thought I’d feel different,” she explained

“I just feel very tired and hung over,” he replied, his voice gravelly. “God, don’t let me take shots with Vlad ever again!”

“I’ll remember that,” she giggled.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”

Anya had gone to her bridge and found it empty, the last train out of Paris had left with Dmitry on it. She stared at the moving river, feeling a dark despair coming over her.

She chastised the tears streaming down on her face; she had what she wanted: her home in Paris and her grandmother, nothing else should matter.

~

The weeks went by and Anya slowly settled into her life as Anastasia. She was all smiles and tender affection when she was around her Nana but a heavy cloud hovered over her. Maria had just reunited with her so she attributed this streak of melancholy to her missing Russia and her family… Vlad knew the truth, he had seen her glow by Dmitry’s side. He let it slip during afternoon tea with Lily and the Dowager. Quickly enough, a plan to make things easier for Anya was set.

Their misguided efforts resulted in a never-ending parade of suitors to entertain the Grand Duchess. There were aristocrats and actors, artists and young ambassadors, a different one each week. Anya found the whole thing ridiculous and, frankly, offensive but she didn’t have a real reason to shun herself from social life. After all, she was young and eligible (her Nana reminded her constantly); she was attractive and unattached (Lily said with a bit of envy); and Dmitry was not coming back (Vlad told her one time in passing).

For a while, she tried her best to become who they wanted her to be: regal, conversational, lovely, unattainable… She gave each suitor a fair chance; she even started enjoying the frivolities of courtship and being adored. Open doors, kissed hands, forced laughter, white lies… She hadn’t lived in court long enough to remember what that felt like. It was intoxicating like chocolate or wine, unhealthy, numbing her senses, making her feel less, demanding her more. And she took whatever she could, danced at every ball, stole every kiss.

Contrary to what her grandmother wanted, Anya didn’t fall in love; she couldn’t. Trying to become detached and carefree like Dmitry, she had hardened her heart, thick and cold as Russian ice.

~

It was summer and Anya was suffocating in the crowded ballroom. Her Nana had thrown a ball for her birthday and she had just managed to sneak out to the balcony and get some fresh air. Her dress was too tight and her feet hurt. She downed a glass of champagne and stared wistfully at the Parisian streets below, always so busy, always out of reach.

“Excuse me,” a man’s voice called her.

Anya braced herself for some awkward conversation, or worse, some cringe worthy flirting. “Yes, monsieur?” she replied without turning.

“I was looking for the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna, do you know where I could find her?”

Only then did she recognize the voice and turned. “Dmitry?” He looked exactly like the last time she had seen him: pristine tuxedo and unruly hair. “Why- What are you doing here?”

“Don’t be mad,” he pleaded. “Vlad wrote and said that you weren’t doing great…”

“I’m fine,” she lied, a cold smile curving her lips. She reached for her glass of champagne and found it empty. “I am. Nana is amazing and I- I remember everything now. It’s what I wanted.”

“I know,” he said simply. He sighed and, after a pause, he asked: “Then why are you sad?”

“I’m not! I’m-” Anya held tight to the banister, trying to contain herself. “I went looking for you, you know. Made a damn fool of myself running around in my dress and my tiara, looking for you at my grandfather’s bridge,” when she turned to look at Dmitry, her eyes were wet with tears. “I wanted you to stay.”

“I didn’t know,” he muttered. “Do you- Do you still want me to stay?” he asked, his usual cockiness suffocated by doubt.

“Of course I do,” Anya let out a sad chuckle. “Dima, I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”

Dmitry walked to where she was and cupped her face and for the first time in months Anya felt alive and real. Electricity flowed through her veins and shocked her to the core. She reached out to hold his arms, the collar of his shirt, whatever she could reach. He closed the distance between them and kissed her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You make me want things I can’t have.”  
> Funny Face AU aka Dmitry is a paparazzi, Anya is a bookworm turned model, and Vlad pretends to be their agent to smuggle them into Paris Fashion Week.

Anya pulled at the sleeves of her dress, avoiding the sight of the camera lens, wishing she was somewhere else. It all had happened so quickly. Their plane had landed in Paris two days before. The first day, she had sneaked out of the hotel to see the sights, overpowered by the beauty of the city and her own wanderlust. The second day, after a long talking-to from Vlad, she had been thrown into a room with a troop of hairdressers, makeup artists, and stylists. The Anya that had emerged from that room was someone else, someone that didn’t look like she had once slept in the streets of Petersburg. Her hair was several inches shorter, shiny, with copper highlights. Her freckles disappeared under the thick layer of makeup. She was several inches taller too, one of the stylists had patiently taught her how to walk in heels. Her old, baggy clothes had been replaced by a skin-tight, blue dress. She tried not to think about how Dmitry’s eyes had widened when he saw her.

Now, she stood in some picturesque park, dressed in a borrowed Malevsky gown -it probably cost more than what she could earn in a lifetime-, pretending to be a model.

“You look tense,” Dmitry complained from behind his camera.

“I’ve never done anything like this before! What am I supposed to do with my arms?” Anya flailed around nervously.

“Not that,” Dmitry went to where she was and held her arms down. “Think of this as a story… You are a- a rich heiress, waiting for the young man that works at the kitchen of your mansion. You’re eloping today, while everyone is busy at the ball.”

“That’s so silly!” Anya laughed.

“Try!” he insisted. “You don’t remember much about your past, you could have been anyone! This is your chance.”

“Okay, I’ll try,” she conceded and decided to play along. She closed her eyes and concentrated. It was weird; she could almost taste the expensive wine served at the ball, hear her heart racing at the thought of being caught with her young man…

Dmitry went back to his place and captured the exact second when Anya became the young heiress, looking longingly to the horizon.

It became their thing, every picture had a complicated backstory to go with it; every new dress meant a different character for Anya. One day she was a free spirit, buying flowers by the handful, cycling back home to a tiny apartment near Montmartre. The next day, she was a university student, leaving a fantastic party, hailing a taxi with her heels in hand.

~

“You are at the ballet, you thought your boyfriend had plans of proposing tonight but he breaks up with you instead,” Dmitry explained rapidly, with dramatic hand gestures.

They were in a deserted theatre late at night; it was beautiful, with a grand marble staircase and velvet curtains. Anya stood still, fidgeting with the expensive necklace she was wearing.

“Sorry- just- give me a minute,” she bit the inside of her cheek and turned to Dmitry. “I don’t really know what a break up feels like,” she admitted quietly.

“Oh, umm” he approached her, his camera hanging from his neck. “So, it’s anger and disappointment and longing…” he spoke slowly and got closer still, cupping her face. Anya just stared, hipnotized by his mouth. “He says goodbye and you know that it’s the last time,” with that he kissed her.

It was just a peck, over too soon; there was a story there and Anya wanted to know how it ended.

“Now turn to look at me,” Dmitry had walked back and was staring at her through the camera lens. Anya felt a couple of tears rolling down her cheeks, her skin still tingled where Dmitry had touched her. “Good! We’ve got it!”

~

It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm, thawing out the remaining frost in her Russian bones. She stared as Dmitry set up the lights. It was a pretty location, a gothic church sorrounded by a big garden, the stained glass windows reflecting on the grass made everything feel like a fairytale.

“All done! Anya, here’s your mark,” Dmitry called. “You’re-”

“I know, I know” she interrupted him and walked to where he was, carrying the long train of her dress in one hand and her bouquet of flowers in the other. “I’m a young bride, having the wedding of my dreams with some handsome diplomat. It is the greatest day of my life,” she said without feeling.

“You got it!” Dmitry congratulated her and started shooting, he stopped after a couple of minutes. “Anya? Are you okay?”

“Of course.”

“It’s just, you look sad… You’re getting married! Big smiles!”

“I feel so dishonest. I’m not getting married, Dmitry,” she sat down on a bench nearby.

“But you aren’t an heiress or a university student either, why is this different?” he sat down next to her and placed his hand over hers.

“You make me want things I can’t have,” she replied softly.

“What do you mean?” he searched for her eyes but she kept staring down at their hands.

“I don’t know. You say all these things, invent these grand stories and I want that. The star-crossed love, the big drama, the happy ending,” she glanced at him, looking for a sign that she wasn’t delusional for wanting everything, for wanting him. He was closer than she thought, just a breath away.

“Anya,” he almost whispered, “you could have anything you wanted.”

She closed the distance between them and kissed him hard, messing her lipstick, making him gasp. Anya ran her hands through his hair and he dragged her closer.

“Anything?” she asked, their foreheads still touching. Dmitry smiled and she could feel his lips curving against hers.

“Anything.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I never stood a chance, did I?”

"And then... He bowed," the words came out of Anya's mouth before she could think about them. Was it a vivid dream or just her imagination placing her in Dmitry's memory? It just seemed so real...

"I didn't tell you that!" Dmitry looked at her, astonished, from the other side of the room.

Then, was it real? "You didn't have to. I remember!" Anya shook her head; all it had taken was one shared memory from a sunny day forever ago and it was all coming back to her. The dances, the palaces, her sisters, the mischief, the banquets, her brother, the soldiers, the gunshots, her parents... There were tears in the corners of her eyes and she could hear her pulse in her ears.

Dmitry ran towards her and she hurried to meet him. His hands on her arms, his eyes on hers... In the middle of the vertigo of regaining her memories, he anchored her to the present.

"I knew I'd find you again," Dmitry said softly. Anya was shaking in his arms; he wanted to hold her together and protect her, protect her from the past, impossible as it was. The pupils of her eyes were blown, the Romanov blue just a halo surrounding them.

They both were inching closer to each other, trying to keep the darkness of not knowing what happened next at bay. Suddenly, Anya was hit with a memory, a more recent one, of them learning how to dance and the small silence that brought them together, gravitating towards each other, like they had finally fallen in orbit. It felt right, meant to be. His hands on her face, his eyes on her lips...

It happened all at once; he got so close his breath tickled her skin and then his lips brushed against hers.

Anya had spent so long caging the butterflies in her stomach but now they flew, all at once, to meet Dmitry's lips, they moved so light and tender. There was reverence in the way he kissed; 'Your Highness', he seemed to whisper as he parted, if only for a second, to catch his breath. He bent over to reach her, almost bowing his head in deference. He was kissing Anastasia, she realized. It upset her, somehow. Yes, she was Anastasia, she had her memories anyway, but the butterflies he had set free were all Anya's and they were hungry...She missed the thrill of being twirled in the air, recklessly.

Soon, Anya found herself grabbing Dmitry's shirt in her fists, pulling him towards her. 'Fight me, argue with me, just see me!' she wanted to scream. Instead, she kissed him harder, nibbled at his lips, and squeezed the muscle of his arms and neck. She wasn't some ghost, long forgotten; she could be touched and feel and love. 'I'm real, I've always been.'

Dmitry took half a step back in surprise, still holding her face. In that moment, he was reminded that Anya, his Anya, wasn't some helpless little bird that needed to be held with white gloves. She was fierce and strong and infuriating and the one he loved. So he grabbed her waist and pressed their bodies as close as they could possibly be, shivering when he heard her hum in approval. Her tongue met his, tentative then eager, and Dmitry couldn't help but smile against her lips. Anya's hands were at his sides now, under his shirt, pulling him slightly towards the bed.

He broke the kiss and rested his forehead on hers. "Anya, are you sure?" he asked, breathing heavily.

"Yes," she nodded and smiled, trying to catch her breath too.

Time seemed to slow down as they stared into each other’s eyes, knowing well what happened next.

Anya helped Dmitry out of his shirt, blushing only a bit when he caught her staring as he removed his pants. He took her hand, kissed it and gently placed it over his heart. She had always suspected that she'd find softness behind his bravado but the gesture seemed so natural it still shocked her.

Dmitry then reached to unpin her hair. Anya giggled when he didn't succeed after two attempts so she turned around, with her back to him, to make it easier. Her hair fell on her face and Dmitry moved it out of the way, peppering kisses on the top of her head, her shoulders. His fingers playing with the straps of her nightgown and his breath on the back of her neck made her shiver in anticipation.

With a nudge of his fingers, the ivory silk pooled at her feet; Anya instinctively covered her chest and stomach, where she had her biggest scars... That is until she realized that the trail of kisses Dmitry was leaving on her neck and back wasn't at random: he was kissing every hole and cut the shrapnel had left behind.

She turned to face him and held him close as they kissed, inching blindly towards the bed, only laughing slightly as they landed ungracefully in a tangle of limbs. He kept kissing her still: her ankle, her calf, the bend of her knee, the inside of her thigh... She gasped. There was a devilish smile on his face as he climbed back up to kiss her lips, so smug it made Anya's blood boil. And so when he was finally in her hold she turned them over on the mattress. Dmitry wasn't exactly complaining when she straddled his hips and rocked forward to kiss him; his hands were possessive over her hips, his breath more and more erratic. She swallowed his moans and fed them to the butterflies he had woken up until they were satisfied...

"Can I tell you a secret?" Anya asked, looking down from his chest, where she had been laying down to catch her breath.

"Always," he replied, his hair was messy, a little bit sweaty and it fell over his eyes...

"I always dreamed that my first kiss would be in Paris, with a handsome prince," Anya said; she was now entertaining herself by drawing the outline of the muscles on Dmitry's stomach with her finger.

He squirmed and chuckled a bit. "Ah! I never stood a chance, did I?" Dmitry had that smart smile on his face but there was an uncertainty to the way he asked. Anya felt her stomach sink as she realized that even now, holding her in bed, his lips still bruised from kissing, he didn't think it would last.

"Dima," she snuggled up to kiss him, slow and with all her might. 'Please, believe this'. "It's you."


	7. I'm Almost Me Again, She's Almost You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Professor/Student AU + ~ f e e l s ~

Anya tapped her leg impatiently, sitting behind the small registration table. She had volunteered to help at the history congress her university was hosting -when the organizer found out she could speak four languages, she was immediately assigned to receive all their international guests. It would have been a grand event had it not been for the snow storm; it had started the day before and now it was in full rage: flights cancelled, roads blocked, the whole shebang. It was rather depressing, she had a list with most of the names scratched out, and emails kept coming in, letting her know this or that professor wouldn’t be able make it. She almost jumped out of her skin when a man opened the door, letting an aggressive gust of wind in, stomping in his winter boots and heavy coat.

“Fucking hell! ‘ _Paris is so warm and lovely’_ , my ass!” he cursed in Russian and Anya had to bite her lip to stop herself from bursting out laughing. He was wearing layers upon layers of clothing and, now that he had entered the heated hall, he seemed eager to remove the long scarf that covered his neck and most of his face. Anya was then surprised to find a brown eyed boy. Boy was the word: he had roguish charm, a lopsided smile and brown hair. Boy was the word even if he towered a head above her.  “Hi! Good day, uh- My name is, uh-” he started to speak in mechanical and very broken French.

“It’s okay, I understand you,” she interrupted him in Russian.

“Oh! So you heard that whole bit, huh?” Anya nodded as he turned red. “Sorry about that,” he apologized.

“It’s fine, we are upset about the weather too,” she replied with a soft smile. “What did you say your name was?”

“Uh, Dmitry Sudayev.”

“We’re glad to have you here, Professor Sudayev!” Anya handed him his ID for the congress and extended her hand towards him.

“Thank you…” he paused, prompting her to say her name.

“Oh, Anya! Anya Morozova.”

“Thank you, Anya Morozova,” he repeated, really pronouncing her name like it was meant to, in that sing-song way that Parisians missed by a bit. His brown eyes studied her eagerly as he shook her hand. “Sorry, have we met before?”

“I don’t think so, Professor. I lived in Perm for a while, then Petersburg…”

“Ah! That must be it,” he resolved. “I’ll see you around, Miss Morozova!”

And just like that he left, like he had just remembered something very important in the middle of their conversation. Anya simply shrugged, he wasn’t the weirdest professor he had met that day, not by a mile.

~

“Mind if I sit here?” Professor Sudayev asked. Anya looked up and there he was again, carrying a thermos of coffee, looking positively dreamy.  

“Please,” she replied pointing at the chair in front of her, while holding back a yawn; it was early. Anya had been woken up by one of her weird nightmares and couldn’t go back to sleep; she walked to the library to try to make some progress on her research; it wasn’t going well.

“Big night?” he asked a little too familiar. “No, never mind, it’s none of my business,” he added quickly, realizing his mistake. “Uh, what do you study?”

“Art history,” she replied.

“Russian history,” he replied, gesturing towards himself. Anya thought, not for the first time, that he seemed a bit too young to have a doctorate; he couldn’t be more than three years older than her… “I remembered why you looked familiar, by the way,” he said like he was talking about the weather.

“Why is that?”

He took out a book from his messenger bag, it was a book on Russian dynasties. He opened a page near the back, one with photographs of the Romanov family. “Here,” he pointed at a photograph of the youngest daughter, one of her last photographs when she was almost seventeen. “Anastasia Romanova.”

“Oh,” Anya looked at the photo and immediately knew what he meant; blurry as it was, the resemblance was undeniable. “Weird,” she said because she couldn’t think of anything else.

“Right? What are the chances!” Professor Sudayev seemed a little too enthusiastic about it all. “So are you related to them or something?”

“Ha!” Anya giggled thinking it was a joke but found him staring at her dead serious. “Oh, you mean it?”

“Yes.”

“Not that I know of; I don’t want to bore you with my tragic backstory but I have amnesia, I don’t remember anything from before I was sixteen,” she shrugged. “I woke up in a hospital with no clue of how I got there and no idea of who I was.”

“Nothing?” he asked, Anya shook her head. “No childhood memories? That must be rough.”

“Honestly? It makes therapy so much easier,” she said sarcastically, making him holler with laughter. “Shhh! We’re in the library!”

He pouted at being told off and took one of the books she had piled up in front of her, checking the pages leisurely, resting his foot on the edge of the table. Anya eyed him suspiciously.

“You’re not really a professor, are you?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Not yet, anyway,” he admitted with a sly smile, not even looking up from the book.  “What gave me away?” he turned to look at her.

“The outfit is a bit much,” Anya said. He was wearing a navy blue, plaid suit with a soft, brown sweater, and thick framed glasses, which, Anya suspected, he didn’t actually need.

“I’ll tone it down next time,” he said, winking at her. He had finally relaxed in her presence and, apparently, was now openly flirting with her. “I just find academia to be a bit…”

“Snobbish?”

“Yeah, exactly! They treat you better at these things when you bring a forged doctorate from some university no one has heard of,” he shrugged. “Gives me clearance for my research, all that good stuff.”

“What are you looking for?”

“I have some proof that one of my ancestors served at the palace before the Russian revolution,” Dmitry took the book and turned some pages until he found a photo that included a number of the Romanov’s servants, he took the seat next to Anya and showed her. “Here, that’s him, Dmitry Sudayev senior, you could say,” it was a boy of nineteen, maybe. “He was a kitchen boy, that’s all I know. I would like to find out what happened to him, how he survived, who he loved, everything.”

Anya watched him come alive as he talked about the distant past, a dream within a dream. His eyes shined like there were specks of gold in them and he smiled up at her, looking through the strands of hair that fell on his forehead. Anya couldn’t explain it but she felt like she had seen that smile before, an ancient memory that maybe wasn’t even hers, a memory of a parade with the smell of withered flowers left in the heat for too long, the sound of a horse-drawn carriage and a voice in the crowd…

His hand reached for hers. “Did you see that too?” she asked, her hands shaking.

“I did,” even his voice sounded familiar. “The parade?”

“Yeah. What- What does it mean?” Anya felt tears coming down from the corners of her eyes, Dmitry reached out to dry them with his thumb.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he reassured her.

Anya buried her face in his chest, her tears falling on his sweater. She looked up and found him staring, his mouth trying to form a question he was perhaps too afraid to even elaborate. He bent over and cupped her face, still struggling to ask.

“May I?” he whispered.

“Yes,” it was almost a sigh.

When he pressed his lips against hers it felt like they had done it a million times before: sneaking in the kitchens to steal pastries; wandering around Saint Petersburg disguised as commoners; sitting side by side, dipping their feet in the Neva; running to the forest dressed in white carrying a bouquet of wild flowers and getting married under the full moon; saying goodbye, promising that they would find each other again, even with the sound of glass breaking announcing the soldier’s attack on the palace…

“Dima,” she gasped, holding closer to him, touching his face, his hair, his hands. “It’s you! How is this possible?”

“My love,” Dmitry pressed his forehead against hers. “I promised I would find you again.”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I used to work in the lingerie department of a medium-to-high-end department store and I had a woman come in and tell me this story. She once had a party with a bunch of girlfriends and the theme was they all had to wear cute pajamas. You know that thing moms liked to say– “Always wear clean/cute underwear in case of emergencies”? It was based on that.
> 
> Well. Lo and behold, they have a fire at this party. Something happened in the stove and they had to call the fire department. Nobody got hurt and the house was fine, but you have half a dozen women standing outside in super cute pajamas with all these seriously hot firemen taking care of the house. (Multiple numbers were exchanged and one girl dated one of those firefighters for a couple years.)
> 
> And I’m just saying
> 
> Imagine your OTP."

A week ago, Marfa, Paulina and Dunya had approached Anya and invited her to a sleepover at Marfa’s. “Just watching movies, eating junk food, putting on masks… You know, girl stuff,” they had told her. Anya smiled politely and agreed to go. She had spent just a few weeks in Saint Petersburg, trying her best to fit in at the university -well, her best considering she was an orphan, on a scholarship, and essentially friendless. Coming from their tight knit group of friends, it seemed like a pity invite but she could use a few girlfriends.

There was a caveat, because of course there was, it was a thematic sleep over: cute pajamas. “You know, like moms say sometimes, that you have to wear clean, cute pajamas in case there is an earthquake or something and you have to leave the house in a hurry,” Dunya explained patiently. Anya nodded, she couldn’t remember her mother saying anything of the sort, she couldn’t remember anything about her in fact, but she could play along. 

And so she bought night gown, silky, midnight blue, very pretty, despite thinking it was silly.

Now, Anya stood in that very night gown, a fluffy blanket over her shoulders and her feet bare. Thank God it was summer, it was cool but bearable in the middle of the night, on the little patch of grass in front of Marfa’s house. 

“I’m so sorry, Marfusha!” Dunya looked helplessly guilty as she apologized for the twentieth time that night. She had microwaved a bit of soup and left the spoon inside, the microwave had exploded, the power had gone and now they were waiting for the fire squad to come.

“It’s fine, Dun,” Marfa took her hand, “just don’t try to cook anything ever again, okay?”

“Okay.”

“How are you holding up, Anya?” Marfa asked. Anya didn’t have the chance to answer as the fire squad had arrived. It was two of them, in full gear, their faces covered.

“Good evening,” one of the firemen greeted them, his voice muffled, “what seems to be the problem?”

“The microwave sort of exploded… I’m sure it’s nothing but we wanted to be sure it wasn’t dangerous to go back inside,” Marfa explained.

“Don’t worry, Miss, we take every call we get very seriously,” he had that military man seriousness about him. “It’s in the kitchen, I suppose?” Marfa nodded. “We’ll look into it, excuse us.”

“Ladies,” the second fireman walked in behind him.

“I’m cold!” Paulina complained as they waited. For the three friends “ cute pajamas” meant lacy tops and booty shorts.

“Here,” Anya put the fluffy blanket on Paulina. “I’m sure they won’t be long.”

Sure enough, a couple of minutes later, the shorter of the two emerged, helmet in hand. He was handsome and lean, with dark hair and brown eyes, a three-day stubble adorning his jaw. 

“Nothing to worry about, Miss,” he told Marfa. “You will have to get a new microwave, I’m afraid." 

Marfa, for the first time since Anya had met her, was speechless, staring blankly at the fireman and only managing to giggle flirtatiously and play with her hair.

"Are you okay, Miss?”

“Of course!” Marfa was now aggressively batting her eyelashes. Anya felt a little sorry for Marfa, she was doing her best and the fireman remained painfully oblivious that he was being flirted at.

“Oh, Miss?” the fireman got closer to Marfa.

“Yes?" 

"Close your eyes,” she obeyed, swaying in his direction, practically melting… And then he blew softly on her face. She opened her eyes, furrowing her brow in confusion. “An eyelash,” he explained. “That will be all, Miss, I’ll just wait for my partner and we’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

He walked away, leaving Marfa pouting with frustration; she did internally thank that he wasn’t turning in her direction to see her two best friends bending over from stifling their laughter.

“Maybe he’s married?” Anya offered helpfully with a sympathetic smile.

“That must be it, yes,” Marfa replied, blushing. “Can you see what’s keeping the other one here? I’ve had my dose of embarrassment for day.”

“Sure.”

Anya peeked through the door and found the other fireman crouching over, fixing the closure of his boot.

“Hey, just wanted to see if we could come in, my friends are freezing out here,” Anya leaned on the doorframe. Now that his helmet was off, she could see the fireman had shiny, brown hair, the kind of hair that begs to be played with.

“Yeah, just a minute, my boot is-” and he stopped, he turned to look at her, still kneeling, his mouth open.

“-broken?” she tried to finish for him since the sentence had been left floating in the air.

“Yeah, that,” he shook his head and got up quickly, taking off his glove, offering his hand. “I’m Dmitry.”

“Anya,” she smiled at him; he was attractive too, more than his partner now that he was smiling down at her. (His jaw!)

“So… Uh, do you live here?” he asked.

“No, it’s just a sleep over. We were in the middle of a Julia Roberts marathon when this happened,” she said. 

“That explains the outfits,” he gestured at the other three standing on the yard, each with a different pair of animal slippers. 

“Yeah, "cute pajamas” was the theme,“ Anya looked up and found him staring at her.

"Dmitry, let’s go!” his partner shouted from the car.

“Is your partner single?” Anya asked suddenly.

“Gleb?!” he almost shouted. “Uh- I think so,” Dmitry deflated a little as he replied, furrowing his brow.

“It’s just that my friend Marfa thinks he’s cute and he wasn’t, you know… He didn’t realize she was flirting with him" Anya explained awkwardly.

“Oh! Your friend!” he laughed (Was that relief?!). “No, of course, I’ll see what I can do. He’s a very serious guy, though, and your friend seems…”

“Not serious?”

“Yeah,” Dmitry smiled softly at her (His eyes!).“Can I have your phone number? You know, to set them up." 

"Sure.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fireman AU 2: Electric Bogaloo  
> Anya and Dmitry try to set up Gleb and Marfa. Double date. Chaos ensues.

"I'm sure she's a lovely girl, this Anya person. But I still don't get why you want me to go," Gleb complained. Dmitry had been talking endlessly about a girl he was having a date with that Saturday, trying to convince Gleb to join them. "What's the saying? Three's a crowd? Something to that effect, anyway."

"You're not getting it, Glebka! Anya has a friend, she's single, she's coming along too," Dmitry made a forward motion with his hands, prompting Gleb to join the dots.

"So..." Gleb furrowed his brow. "Is she insisting on two chaperones?"

"I swear to God!" Dmitry clapped a hand to his forehead in exasperation.

"You know," Gleb said after a moment's thought, "it's actually very clever of her! Each of you take a friend to the date, instead of having them call you to check if everything's okay. Hardly any risk of a predator agreeing to that kind of setup."

"I guess," Dmitry replied, already giving up on the idea entirely.

"I'll go," Gleb said. He got up, grabbed his big backpack from the locker and shut it closed.

"You will?" Dmitry gasped.

"Yeah! You know I'm all for sensible safety measures," he clapped a hand on Dmitry's shoulder. "See you tomorrow," he said and left the station.

"Well, it's something," Dmitry decided with a shrug.

~

Saturday rolled in and with it the date that Dmitry had carefully planned. At first Dmitry had suggested a mini-golf date, like one he had seen in an American romcom. Anya was quick to point out that mini-golf wasn't really a thing in St Petersburg. Shame. Not that Dmitry had thought briefly about putting his arms around Anya and guiding her as she took a particularly tricky shot... Anyway, they were going horseback riding at Anya's suggestion.

"Can you ride?" she had asked Dmitry.

"Sure," he replied, meaning "How hard can it be?"

In all honesty, whether he could remain seated on a pony or not was the lesser of his worries. If Gleb had caught on about the fact that he was being set up, Dmitry might have openly suggested strategies to charm Marfa and keep them both from being terribly embarrassed. But being as it was, all he hoped for was that the date wasn't going to be a disaster.

Gleb and Dmitry picked the girls up at Marfa's, finding Anya in a pair of jeans and boots, and Marfa in leather pants and thigh highs.

The drive was awkward. Marfa was riding shotgun trying her best to catch Gleb's eye and start a conversation. Gleb was driving, replying with monosyllables, and eyeing the rearview mirror every couple of minutes, like he was actually babysitting Anya and Dmitry in the back.

Eventually, they got to the place, on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by orchards, lovely in the afternoon light. They were taken to the stables, where Anya immediately ran to touch each horse and give them loving pats.

"You're so pretty! Yes, you are!" she cooed at a white mare that had taken with her.

Gleb and Marfa were busy talking to the manager about how tame the horses were or something of the sort, Dmitry wasn't really paying attention because Anya was glowing from within, smiling from ear to ear. Any fear he had that the date would go wrong was promptly forgotten as he walked towards her.

"Having fun?" he asked sweetly, placing one arm around her waist.

"Yes!" she leaned into his touch. "Come on! I'll take her, you can take that one, and we can do races," she pointed at a grey horse that stood a bit taller than the rest, lean and restless.

"Sure," Dmitry replied automatically, ignoring the weight in his stomach that warned him against it. He would have signed off on his kidneys with Anya looking at him like that.

They turned to find that Marfa and Gleb had picked their horses too; the manager was securing the saddles on them and guiding them out of the stable.

It was all fun and games until Dmitry saw Anya climb on her horse in a swift movement that seemed easy but he was unable to replicate. He tried a couple of times, using all his upper body strength to no avail. He suddenly felt like the lanky teenager he was at thirteen, a stick figure, undernourished and relentlessly bullied.

"Shit," he muttered, trying once more. Someone pushed on Dmitry's foot and thigh to help him up. He settled on the saddle, his smile of relief turned into a grimace of embarrassment when he saw Gleb next to his horse.

"All right there, partner?" Gleb asked.

"Yeah, yeah," Dmitry replied, knowing that no matter how great this date went, Gleb could still tell everyone at the station about this. "Thanks for- yeah..."

"Don't worry. It's hard the first few times," Gleb patted Dmitry's horse and walked towards Marfa, who seemed to be waiting for him. Gleb offered his shoulder and intertwined hands to hoist her up. Marfa said a few words of thanks, letting her hand linger on Gleb's shoulder for a little while.  Her horse was calm, it looked almost bored at everything that was happening, its reddish brown coat matched with Marfa's hair.

Gleb climbed onto his horse in one flowing motion.

"You ride, Glebka?" Dmitry asked.

"Only a little," he said humbly, "my Dad was a cavalry officer."

"Oh, goody," Dmitry mumbled bitterly as he felt his horse vibrate underneath him, tugging at the reins like a girl that decided it was her responsibility to lead in a dance, guessing the incompetence of her partner. He suddenly wished he had picked the tired looking horse at the back of the stable, the one with white in its muzzle.

Dmitry could manage for a while, following Anya as she went this way and that, all four of them moving slowly for Marfa's sake. They talked and joked, exploring the orchards at a leisurely pace. When it started getting dark, they turned back and suddenly there was a glint of mischief in Anya's eyes.

"I'll race you back!" she squealed, slamming her heels to the sides of her horse and disappearing in a cloud of dust.

Dmitry didn't move a muscle, but his horse followed suit immediately. All of a sudden, the wind hit Dmitry's face with force, and the feeble illusion of control he had while holding the reins disappeared completely.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" he screamed, seeing the stables come closer impossibly fast. In seconds, he had caught up with Anya and was about to leave her behind. "Anya!"

She turned, her blue eyes wide at the sight of the horse running out of control. She reached for the reins of Dmitry's horse and pulled on them hard, the force of it almost lifting her out of her horse and making her scream. In the end, thankfully, both horses stopped.

"I thought you said you could ride," Anya said, out of breath.

"There's more to it than I thought," Dmitry said, shaking. After a beat, they laughed. "Some first date, huh?"

"I won't forget it, that's for sure," Anya replied. "Ow!" she cried, suddenly.

"What is it?"

"It's my ankle," she pointed at her left foot, tangled in the stirrup and a little twisted from the maneuver she had pulled a moment ago.

They were back in front of the stables and Dmitry jumped gracelessly from his horse, since there was no pretense of dignity to maintain anymore. He walked to where Anya was.

"Here, I'll catch you," he opened his arms so she didn't have to land on her injured foot.

"And they say chivalry is death!" she fawned, a little mockingly.

"Come on!"

Anya fell in his arms and Dmitry automatically put her over his shoulder, in a fireman carry.

"You know," Anya said, her voice muffled into the fabric of his shirt, "a bridal carry would have been nicer, more romantic."

"Sorry," Dmitry apologized, as he placed her carefully on the ground. "You date a fireman, this is what you get," he gave her a crooked smile. "Now, let me see that ankle."

Anya removed her boot. Her ankle was bruised and tender. Dmitry took her foot in his hands, tracing some pattern, pressing here and there.

"I think it's sprained, not broken," he said softly. "We'll have to go to the hospital after this," he added, his tone apologetic.

"It's fine," Anya smiled, reaching with her hand to fix his hair and cup his cheek. Dmitry turned his face to kiss her palm.

"Thanks for saving me," he said, a gentle smile curling his lips.

Anya felt her heart flutter. "Anytime," she whispered and leaned in to kiss him sweetly. Their first kiss, at sundown, the sweet smell of apples and summer in the air... Maybe this hadn't been such a disaster after all, Dmitry thought.

When they parted, in the distance, they saw Marfa and Gleb. They were both riding Gleb's horse, Marfa in the front, and Gleb holding the reins of both horses. Later, they'd explain about how Marfa's horse had panicked and how Gleb had calmed the horse and offered to bring Marfa back safely. Still, there they were, Gleb holding Marfa's waist, helping her down of the saddle ever so slowly, their eyes locked, and offering his arm as they walked back. Marfa talked and laughed, her hands all over Gleb's bicep.

Anya elbowed Dmitry on the ribs and they shared a conspiratorial look.

"I'd call that a win," Dmitry said, offering his hand to Anya, palm up. She high-fived it without missing a beat.

"Win win," she replied.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are love <3  
> Come talk to me about Anya and Dmitry at my tumblr (@aralisj) if you want :)


End file.
